


The Humming

by LibraStar96



Category: Gravity Falls, Twin Peaks
Genre: Anyway here's another Twin Peaks crossover, Drabble, I seem to like killing Dipper for some reason, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraStar96/pseuds/LibraStar96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the rest of his admittedly long life Dan would never forget the events of that morning. The way it had gradually dawned on him that there was something wrapped in that wad of plastic. Something that was the color of pale human skin. Something that had brown hair. Something that, now that he was right next to it, was obviously a human being, lying far to still, wrapped in plastic, and soaking wet. <br/>Wendy was humming, low and soft. <br/>The foghorn sounded. <br/>Dan inhaled, then exhaled, backed up ten steps, pulled out his flip phone, and called the police.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Humming

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of inspiration I got re-watching Twin Peaks. I think my writers block has finally dissipated. This is just a re-imagining of the opening scene of Twin Peaks as it might be in the Gravity Falls universe. A drabble but I had fun writing it, I hope you enjoy.  
> This was written in the spur of the moment and is not beta read. Please forgive any spelling/grammar errors.

“Manly” Dan Corduroy made his way through the house with surprising ease for a man his size, stepping almost delicately around the various objects lying around on the creaky wooden floor, nothing more than a small creak every now and then betraying his movements. The grey light of an overcast autumn morning, shining like silver and piercing like ice, trickled through the closed curtains of the cabin Dan had built himself, walls for his family made from his own hands, a tangible symbol of his desire to protect his family. He stooped by the door where his tackle box and fishing rod were being kept and paused when he heard shuffling above him; Wendy was awake.

His spitfire daughter was staying for a few months before making her official move to Portland to pursue a career in journalism. He was never one to read the paper thoroughly but she had a way of making the stories she told, tangible, relatable, and interesting, something he couldn’t help but read, and she loved the legwork and quick pace of the job. She had decided, since Gravity Falls was, after all, a small backwater of a town (no matter what the Northwest’s tried to pull off) that to really have a chance at making a name for herself, she needed to move to a bigger city, Portland wasn’t huge but it was a start. She seemed happy with her life as it was, and the future she saw ahead of her, but was still young enough to want to stay in her childhood home a little longer before making the major change that moving would be. His sons were still fast asleep and would be until 11 most likely, it was the weekend after all. He gathered his things, pulled on his cap and took a deep breath, exhaling the last vestiges of sleep from his body and turned the doorknob before hearing something that made him pause again; Wendy was humming, low and soft. He smiled softly to himself, and left the cabin.

The Corduroy home stood proud and strong, made of sturdy Douglas Firs and unbroken by the many harsh Oregon winters it had seen. It stood close by the shore of the river that ran through Gravity Falls, and deposited into the giant lake at the edge of the town, which saw lots of activity during the summer, with children swimming in an attempt to stave off the summer heat, and citizens of all ages trying a hand at fishing. Only Dan knew the best places to fish, and one of those was at the edge of the river where his house was. The placement of the house was no mistake. The walk to his favorite spot was veiled in fog that morning, the woods he hiked through made otherworldly covered, as it was, by that misty cloak, and he shivered as the dampness began to settle on his skin and clothing, chilling him beneath his thick coat. The earth sank slightly beneath his great footfalls, but the twigs and leaves still snapped, as he continued on through the quiet morning of the forest.

It would have seemed very strange to almost anyone in the town to see Dan so quiet, so unobtrusive as he was usually the exact opposite when he was out and about running errands, or going to the bar, or having a conversation, or anything else really. It would be like seeing Stan Pines give away money; unimaginable. However, Dan had a hidden quiet about him that only his family knew about. Just like the forest he lived in, just like the trees he felled, they may be full of life and may make noise when they move, but at their core, they are sturdy, and quiet. Simply there, a presence that one could count on to always be there for support, and Dan had done everything to be just that to his children. He had done well.

He heard the sound of a distant foghorn as he broke through the tree line, and came to the shore of the river, and slowed to a stop as he gave a wistful sight, murmuring quietly “The lonesome foghorn blows.” The vibrating hum left his rustled bones as it died down, and he turned his head, trying decide the best place to set up his chair for his morning activities when he noticed something off. There on the shore, partially hidden by a large boulder was a bundle of plastic, lying in an abandoned heap. It stuck out like a sore thumb among the natural greens and greys of the nature around him, and he was struck with a wave of annoyance. Really the town was small enough that this kind of litter shouldn’t happen, and damn it, it wasn’t his job to pick up after slobs who didn’t give a shit about the environment, but he certainly wasn’t going to just _leave_ it there.

For the rest of his admittedly long life Dan would never forget the events of that morning. The way the gravel along the shore crunched beneath his feet as he made his way over to the wad of plastic. The way his breath had disturbed the thick fog in front of his mouth. The way the sound of the small waves lapping along the shoreline of the river had drowned out all other sound except his breathing and his heartbeat. The way it had gradually dawned on him that there was something wrapped in that wad of plastic. Something that was the color of pale human skin. Something that had brown hair. Something that, now that he was right next to it, was obviously a human being, lying far to still, wrapped in plastic, and soaking wet. Wendy was humming, low and soft. The foghorn sounded. Dan inhaled, then exhaled, backed up ten steps, pulled out his flip phone, and called the police.

 

* * *

 

Sheriff Blubbs was not a squeamish man when it came to crimes. Having spent a good twenty years in the Boston Police Department before finding himself in Gravity Falls, he had seen his fair share of grisly or downright disturbing crimes. The problem wasn’t that he was squeamish, or inexperienced. The problem was that Gravity Falls never saw any what one might call “serious crime”, and that he knew everyone in that town on some kind of personal level. He had shared at least three conversations with everyone that lived in the town, knew their faces, had shaken their hands, and had run into them at the grocery store. When Dan Corduroy had called the Police Department that morning, revealing with a slight tremor in his voice, that he was looking at a body wrapped in plastic at the edge of the Gravity Falls River, Blubbs had felt a lead weight sink down to the bottom of his stomach. This crime was much worse than anything he had experienced before it, because he knew he would recognize the face of the victim, know what their voice sounded like, know their family.

Blubbs had called the mortician, Mr. Valentine, to provide a medical perspective, and armed Durland with a camera, explaining quietly what had happened and assuring his Deputy that all he needed was a few pictures of the body, and then he could leave. His heart ached that Durland’s gentle should would have to see something like this, but so far the man had been sturdy. They climbed into the one police car the station owned, picked up Valentine, and finally pulled up close to the spot where Dan was waiting. It was Saturday, 9:30 am.

The three men climbed out of the vehicle, quiet and full of dreadful anticipation, and approached the Corduroy patriarch. The man stood as solid as he always was, his face as pale as the fig around him, and his bright red hair darkened with the water in the air. Dan gave the men a shot nod and turned his gaze to the sad bundle they had come for. Blubbs turned to stare at it, the mortician at his left and his Deputy at his right. For such a still silent thing, its existence shook the air around it, and shattered any peace the morning might have brought. It rattled Blubbs to his core as he tried to still his shaking hands.

“Durland.” His voice was soft but the most solid thing in the whole scene, and it called Durland to attention, as he slid on the mask of a hardened city cop. “Take a few photos please.” Durland did not respond vocally but took a shuddering breath as he snapped a few photos first from a distance, and then, reluctantly he crept closer, leaning back slightly as though afraid the body in front of him would suddenly jump at him. It remained steadfastly, horribly still.

Blubbs turned to Valentine, “Help me turn it over please.” Valentine nodded, no smile on his face for once, and moved to help Blubbs roll the body over so that it was lying face up. It was cold underneath the plastic, reminding Blubbs unpleasantly of a landed fish. There wasn’t too much of a smell yet, mostly the faint sent of iron that would give way to rot. He sat on his haunches for a moment, staring at the plastic obscured face to the victim in front of him, wanting just a few more moments of ignorance, before he knew which family was about to have its foundations torn asunder, and pulled the plastic away.

It was Dipper Pines.

            “Oh Dipper” Valentine whispered, genuine sorrow in his voice. Blubbs continued to stare, (eyes dry and hands now steady) kneeling next to the body of the 18 year old he had known since the boy was twelve. The emotions weren’t coming yet. Durland gave a quiet sob and took a photograph Corduroy gave a low groan from where he was standing, apparently having heard Valentine. He would have to tell his daughter. Blubbs would have to tell Stan, and Mabel. The twins had come into town to live a year with their Great Uncle for a year before starting college. Dipper had wanted to study cryptozoology, and Mabel was going into fashion design. He was going to have to tell that girl that she had lost her twin. He had never known one to be without the other for long.

            Blubbs let out a harsh breath, there would be time for tears later, and right now he had to be the stable one. He could weep for his own sorrow later, right now, he had to do everything he could, to make sure they found out who had done this. The town was never going to be the same after this morning. Under the eternal gaze of the forest, he began his report.

 


End file.
